Novelas y relatos de Hot Historical Romance Novels

“Fuck.” Rachel stared at her phone in the hotel room. Another lonely business trip, another boring night. The steamy romance novel she’d bought at the airport wasn’t helping the growing ache between her legs. It had been weeks since her breakup, and she was horny. She decided to head down to the hotel bar. Slipping into a cocktail dress and heels, she felt good as heads turned when she walked in. She ordered a glass of wine and soon a well-dressed man named Grant slid onto the stool beside her.

He never shielded me from the heartache in the pages of those books but used them as a tool to teach me about life, history, hopes, and dreams. It wasn’t until my teen years that I discovered my love of romance. What began by dipping my toes into the historical greats affectionately termed ‘bodice rippers’ took on a different tone when I was a senior in high school. I discovered the world of erotic romance. I’d always been taught that literature was a gateway for the imagination so I never dreamed that some people would frown on the romance genre as lower quality literature. After all, with a history of such utter trash like Wuthering Heights and The Old Man and the Sea being named classics,

Chapter 7: Rose: Sean helped move all my belongings into another room and brought food up to dine with me. I think he was trying to guard me without letting me know he was… it didn’t matter to me how independent i was any longer. I was grateful for his company and realized I still needed a strong man to help me. As I sipped my tea trying to calm my nerves before bed, I couldn’t help observing Sean from under my lashes. Tonight I suffered quite a fright, but it also woke something inside of me that I didn’t know was there…. lust. Not for the drunkard that tried to take what wasn’t his, but the act itself that something so hard looking could feel soft when pressed between my folds. Luckily he

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He would have, right? I shook my head again and concentrated on the book placed on my lap. It was one of the British, historical romance fictions set during the World War Two. I had randomly picked it up at the bookstore and somehow felt myself drawn towards it. Sappy novel with mopey dialogues and dragged out bits, it still provided me with much needed solace.

If you found yourself drawn to the darkness—the kind of love that burns down worlds—the deeper lore, the dragons, the mystery beyond the ice walls, or characters like Lazarus and Sebastian, you can explore their origins in my other novel, The Last Dragon’s Enslaved Lycan Mate. And if you love powerful heroines who have to fight to earn their place in the world, and fate-bound romance, I think you’ll also enjoy, The First of Her Kind. If you want more—behind-the-scenes, future projects, Q&As, and a closer look into the chaos inside my head—you can find me on the gram @mfs_author Yes, I’m a bit of a controversial author with a knack for dark fantasy/romance. My love stories are edgy, to say th

I asked. “Another one of his historical smuts.” Henry replied, raising his voice to grab Ron’s attention. “This is fine historical literature not smut.” I snorted at that. “Fine historical literature my ass.” Henry said. Hen was right. I had once searched for a book in Ron’s vast library that did not involve a Duke being wickedly seduced by a temptress or a Highlander spilling his seeds into a moaning fair maiden and had not found any. Not that I was complaining, they were quite educative.

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“This is rape with a pretty word on it.” Ash’s smile thinned. “Call it whatever keeps you righteous. Your scent called across the border. We answered. We don’t apologize for taking what’s in heat on our land.” “I’m not in heat.” Rook rolled his hips the inch the knot allowed. I gasped. More spend pushed against the seal. “You will be,” Rook said into my skin. “Or close enough.” We stayed locked a long time. Rook pulled out slow. I felt empty and flooded at once. Cum leaked out of me in a thick line. He looked at it, pushed two fingers back in as if he couldn’t stand the waste, then wiped them on my thigh.

At the bottom of the shelf, though, were a handful of romance novels—in English, no less. I pulled out a historical romance by a favorite author of mine. I hadn’t read this one, and I’d already finished the one romance I’d brought with me. I was a total bore and preferred to read printed books still. Probably because they smelled nice. If e-readers could let out a puff of new-book scent, though, I’d buy one in a heartbeat. “The Seduction of Miss Emily Morris,” Olivier read over my shoulder. “That rather gives the plot away, no?”